


Christmas Manor

by Tea_and_roses



Series: His Butler, Observing Holidays [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Complete, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Snowed In, The fluffiest fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5538635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_roses/pseuds/Tea_and_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel Phantomhive is fiercely apathetic toward any pre-Christmas festivities, and believes that his services as the Queen’s loyal watchdog will be the most important business of the season.<br/>Fortunately for him, a snowstorm, a host of mischievous well-meaning servants, and one hell of a butler aren’t likely to let that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The gash on Ciel Phantomhive’s arm would heal, even if the boy’s pride would not. Dried blood and ragged wounds Sebastian could tend easily; his master’s anger was more complicated to assuage.

He dabbed Ciel’s forearm with an impossible delicateness that still fell inadequate.

“That _hurts_ ,” huffed Ciel, though he remained stone-still in his chair.

“You’ve suffered an unfortunate injury, my lord,” Sebastian replied. “Given the circumstances, your courage was extraordinary.”

“That vermin saw me cry.”

“One tear, my lord.” Sebastian recalled the image and smirked. “Compared to the child you saved, your face was quite dry.”

Ciel slammed his arms down against those of his chair, and promptly winced.

“I will not be compared to a child!”

“But my young lord—”

“‘Young,’ am I?” Ciel’s tone was menacing. “Even you cannot be senseless enough to make the mistake of calling me ‘young’ after such a reprimand, Sebastian.” His arm stung, and Ciel sniffed most inopportunely.

“Compared to the _parents_ of the child you rescued, my lord, you were quite stoic. They carried on as if they were the ones nearly kidnapped.”

“Fools. If they hadn’t left the child unattended in a crowded store full of playthings, there would have been no need for them to carry on. There would have been no opportunity for such a heinous crime.”

“Nor would there have been an opportunity for you to show such exquisite bravery, my lord. You surely made a good impression on several dozen witnesses. That has to be helpful to Funtom Company sales this time of year. From the camera flashes, I suspect there may have even been some reporters present.”

Ciel just sighed.

“Not to mention you ended the life of a dangerous criminal,” Sebastian added generously.

“You mean _you_ ended the life of a dangerous criminal.”

“I am perfectly willing to concede all credit to my master, youn—my lord.”

“Well, I suppose some good came out of those parents’ idiocy,” Ciel grumbled.

“I believe you’ll find plenty of humans are rather foolish this time of year.”

“ _Are_ they,” said Ciel, rising from his chair and examining the way Sebastian had bandaged his right arm. “You’d better take especial care not to include me in your clumsy generalizations, Sebastian, true or not.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord,” Sebastian assured, clasping one gloved hand over his chest and bowing. Ciel, however, had already turned away; the large window behind the desk in his study offered a clear view of the manor grounds, and Ciel surveyed the snow-covered lawns and trees with an unreadable expression.

“Shall I bring you tea, my lord?” Sebastian hazarded.

“It’s snowing.”

“Indeed, my lord. Chocolate, then?”

“I’m going to go outside.”

Sebastian, who kept the study perpetually prepared against Ciel’s whims, gathered up a heavy coat, leather gloves, and a fluffy hat from a gleaming coat tree by the door.

Ciel accepted the sturdy gloves without complaint, but began to object as Sebastian wrapped him up in the thick coat.

“I refuse to wear that hat. It looks ridiculous.”

“Whom do you seek to impress on your own estate, my lord? Lady Elizabeth is not here, and even if she were, I seem to remember that she is the one who gifted the hat to you two Christmases ago.”

“I always wonder why you don’t burn up or something upon saying that word,” said Ciel, smiling wickedly. “Are demons allowed, then, to say ‘Christmas’?”

“Demons are allowed to do a great many things, my lord.” Sebastian nearly added a quip about participating in Christmas festivities without fear of spontaneously igniting, but thought better of it on account of Ciel’s parents. Sebastian was not in a devilish enough mood to plunge his master into grief and fury. He settled on a different course of action.

“Allow me to accompany you outside, my lord,” Sebastian enjoined. Ciel harrumphed in reply, which was his best approximation of assent. The fluffy hat still hung in Sebastian’s hand.

“Will you not protect yourself against the cold with this hat, my lord? It is hardly unfashionable; I saw a dozen boys wearing similar hats in the London shops this morning.” Sebastian was stalling, trying to prevent Ciel from leaving the room at once, though his master did not realize it yet.

“Well then,” said Ciel, turning on Sebastian with one eyebrow raised in judgment, “it would be a shame for the Earl of Phantomhive to imitate the hackneyed fads of common pedestrians on the street; wouldn’t you agree?”

“Just so, my lord,” said Sebastian with a little sigh that might have been mistaken for defeat. It was not. Rather, the emotion was somewhere between admiration and—

“Wear the hat yourself, Sebastian,” Ciel commanded suddenly. “That’s an order.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Sebastian meekly placed the hat on his own head, crushing the parts of his hair that usually stood up, and adjusted it so that the earflaps fell over the sides of his head correctly. He pretended to enjoy the hat, pointing out its merits to Ciel only to get a rise out of him. “It is very warm, my lord; thank you.”

“Don’t talk to me about the hat,” Ciel snapped. “You’ve delayed enough. Let’s go.”

The butler obligingly followed him across the room, taking pains to keep pace with Ciel and be just behind, but nearly beside, his lord.

“It seems Mey-rin has done some decorating for Christmas,” Sebastian pointed out innocuously.

“I don’t care about that,” Ciel huffed. “The servants seem to enjoy it. Anyway, if she weren’t so horribly clumsy, she could have finished a lot sooner. I gave her permission a week ago.”

“Oh? So you gave her permission for _that_ , my lord?” Sebastian glanced upward, the picture of innocence except for the smile at the corners of his lips.

Ciel began to look up, realized before he saw it what Sebastian must be referring to, and cursed himself and Mey-rin and Sebastian all in one thought.

Sebastian kissed Ciel squarely but softly.

Ciel considered dying of embarrassment, considered falling in love with Sebastian, considered punching Sebastian. He settled on doing none of them in time. Too soon (no, that can’t be right; much too long later), Sebastian pulled back, murmured some nonsense about Happy Christmas, and drew himself back up to his full height.

“Are you still going outside, my lord?” Sebastian asked.

Ciel, not trusting himself to speak, simply pursed his lips and stalked down the hall, Sebastian in tow. At least outside, Ciel’s flushed cheeks could be excused away.

Sebastian considered with satisfaction that Ciel had not in fact ordered him to take down the mistletoe.

“Don’t smirk,” Ciel ordered, without even turning around to see his butler’s face.

“As you wish, my lord.”


	2. Chapter 2

The view of sugar-like snow from the window had been a deceptive invitation; out in the elements, the temperature was bitingly unpleasant. Ciel, who could be remarkably stubborn, was only pretending to enjoy the weather. His teeth were chattering too hard to even make any sharp comments to Sebastian.

“You seem cold, my lord,” observed Sebastian. He resisted the urge to brush snow from Ciel’s hair and privately commended his own restraint.

“You’re surprised?” Ciel hissed, attempting to sound supercilious. His voice shook, however, which undermined his best mocking tone.

“You may reverse your order at any time, my lord, in regard to the hat,” Sebastian reminded.

“With the servants all watching?” Ciel glared back at the mansion’s many windows. He knew his staff too well to suspect any better of them.

“If you would indulge me, my lord, there is a most exquisite plant around the corner in the gardens. I think you would be impressed to see Finnian’s excellent work this season.”

“Fine.” Ciel trekked through the snow, following Sebastian’s dutiful directions. The butler led him to a space behind a hedge higher than their heads.

“If I may, didn’t Finnian do a fine job shaping these hedges?” Sebastian asked. They were neatly done, but hardly noteworthy. “Far better than that time Grell tried his hand at it; wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

“If you brought me out here to attack me again, I—I order you not to.”

“Another order so soon, my lord?” said Sebastian, smiling demurely. “I had no intention of ‘attacking’ anyone. I merely thought to give you an opportunity to reverse your earlier order, as you seemed likely to insist upon staying out in this terribly inclement weather.”

“Very well,” said Ciel, sniffling. “I rescind my order.”

Sebastian removed the hat; his hair returned at once to its usual state. The butler looked at Ciel hopefully, and received a nod of approval. Delicately, as he had tended Ciel’s wound, Sebastian dusted the snow from Ciel’s blue-grey hair and fitted the hat onto his head.

“Good.” Ciel nodded. “Now, let’s have a look at that plant of Finnian’s, shall we?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Sebastian led Ciel out of the shadow of one hedge and toward another, gesturing at the wholly unremarkable work Finnian had done keeping the hedges trimmed, and explicating the gardener’s deftness. It was a stupid pretense, but they were both complicit in it.

 

“The young master is wearing Mister Sebastian’s hat now, yes he is!” Mey-rin squealed, from her position in one of the attic windows. In her excitement, what with flapping and clasping her hands, she nearly fell off the hatbox she was standing on.

“Next thing y’know, they’ll be kissin’ under some mistletoe or somethin’!” Baldroy agreed, which caused Mey-rin to swoon so much she fell off the box entirely. Baldroy passed the binoculars past Mey-rin, who had no need of them, and handed them to Finny.

At Baldroy’s suggestion, Finny’s cheeks had turned bright pink. “They’re out in _my_ garden!” he exclaimed, nearly overcome with joy. “The master and Sebastian must think _my garden_ is completely romantic!”

“We’d better put up lots and lots and lots of mistletoe!” Mey-rin squeaked. “Oooh, this is going to be such a happy Christmas! I do love to see the young master and Mister Sebastian feeling happier, yes I do!”

 

“We can go in now, Sebastian,” said Ciel after several wasted minutes of traipsing through the snow-blanketed grounds to appease the earl’s pride.

“As you wish, my lord,” Sebastian acquiesced graciously.

When they reached the front door of the mansion, Sebastian politely paid no attention to the sprig of mistletoe newly strung above their heads. The thought of overruling such a frivolous order was tempting, but still not worth breaking the contract.

Ciel—now in the practice of checking doorways—surely had seen it as well. However, Sebastian observed with some interest, the lord again did not order the decoration to be removed. Ciel simply stepped past it, stamping snow from his heeled shoes, and proceeded up to his rooms without a word.

If either earl or butler realized Mey-rin and company were skulking about at the top of the stairs and peering through the balustrade to spy on them, neither seemed to take notice.

 

Within the hour, Ciel was stripped of wet clothes and bathed in hot water and bundled back into his study wrapped in slippers, robes, and quilts. Sebastian made a fire without being told and awaited further instructions. He very much expected Ciel to return to his desk and start demanding after the company records, or the post, or some soberingly boring text on economics from the nearby shelves containing his extensive library.

Instead, Ciel flopped onto one of the narrow sofas, crawled into a corner of it, and curled up, pulling the quilts tighter around himself. Sebastian was puzzled. Though the snow darkened the sky and the study, the late afternoon was only just fading into evening. It was an unusual hour for the earl to abandon his endless work. It was equally strange, if Ciel _had_ given up on his duties and intended to read, for him to select anywhere to sit but his usual armchair.

“Can I get you something, my lord?” Sebastian inquired. “Hot chocolate, perhaps? Would you like a book to read for pleasure?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit drafty in here?” Ciel asked pointedly, huddling a bit smaller in the mound of blankets. _Close the door, Sebastian_ , was the order the butler heard and very agreeably obeyed.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Sebastian apologized, his bow melting into a graceful stride. The door was shut instantaneously.

“I’m cold, as well.” Ciel’s voice was a shade too pitiful to be sincere, even for him. “I _don’t_ want the servants barging in that door and bothering me with any petty concerns this evening. It is hardly my intent to fall ill before Christmas.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Sebastian, bolting the door on cue and biting back a sarcastic comment about his master tramping around in the snow of his own volition for three quarters of an hour.

“It grows dark, besides,” Ciel growled. Surely Sebastian must know that; he had already lit the candles in every sconce around the room. The floor-length window, however, still admitted the blackening sky and the unobstructed view of any servants foolhardy enough to climb a ladder in the middle of a snowstorm. Neither party doubted the possibility.

“I thought only to make you warm first, my lord,” said Sebastian, crossing the room and drawing the curtains with an inhuman speed. The room was now well-defended against prying, if one considered that the crackling of the fireplace could cover up very soft noises.

“Well, then,” prompted Ciel, as if Sebastian ought to know what to do next.

“Now what, my lord?” Sebastian inquired.

“This sofa is terrible,” Ciel complained, fidgeting a bit and dashing Sebastian’s hopes all at once. “Clearly its designers had no concept whatsoever of usefulness when they created it.”

“How kind of you to examine it and to consider the comfort of your guests, my lord,” Sebastian replied easily. Visitors were the only ones likely to make use of the sofa; Ciel belonged absolutely in one of the study’s two elegant armchairs.

Ciel cleared his throat and said nothing.

“Can I get you anything, my lord?” Sebastian repeated, cautious to keep his voice neutral.

The earl nodded once and pointed at the sofa cushion to his left.

“Shall I order you a new sofa, then?” the butler suggested, feigning ignorance. It was his aesthetic to be professional, after all, even in the most unprofessional of situations. Ciel groaned in annoyance and then became rigidly still.

“Sebastian,” he said, very softly, “come here.”

Obediently, Sebastian stepped closer to the sofa, and, upon the earl’s solemn gesturing, sat down a few inches from Ciel.

“And now what, my lord?” the demon asked.

Ciel blinked, and Sebastian tried to ignore the way the firelight tipped Ciel’s eyelashes in gold, or made his skin glow like porcelain, or made him look warm and much less formidable than he did out in the dirty streets of London terrorizing criminals. He looked human. Sebastian _felt_ human. It was a vulnerable place to be, and Sebastian almost resented the impulse, but then decided against it.

“Now I take back my order,” said Ciel carefully.

“The one about ‘attacking’?” Sebastian questioned. He attempted a cruel smile, but it turned out affectionate instead.

“Yes.” Ciel made his voice very serious and very earnest. “I take it back.”

“I see.”

Ciel pulled the blankets a bit tighter and looked at the butler expectantly.

“Is there something else you would order me to do, my lord?” asked Sebastian.

“I thought you said your first priority was to keep me warm; is it not?”

“Of course, my lord.” Sebastian erased the inches separating them on the couch and placed one arm around Ciel’s quilt-wrapped shoulders, drawing him closer. Their sides were touching—sort of, through the mass of quilts—and Sebastian’s arm was fitted comfortingly against Ciel, but the earl offered only a petulant-sounding sigh.

“ _Warmer_ ,” he ordered.

Sebastian smirked for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and stood up. At first, Ciel’s temper nearly flared at the possibility of Sebastian disobeying a direct order and severing their contract at a most unfair point in time, but then Sebastian was scooping him off the sofa, blankets and all, and assuming Ciel’s place on the cushion, and setting Ciel across his lap, and placing Ciel’s chest against his own.

“Better, my lord?” Sebastian asked, his voice barely audible.

“You could do better still,” said Ciel. And then, firmly: “I _don’t_ want to need the quilts.”

“As you wi—” Sebastian began, allowing the layers of quilts to fall away, leaving Ciel in two robes and his butler’s very reassuring hands.

Sebastian’s affirmation was interrupted, however, by Ciel, kissing him. Mistletoe was apparently no longer a requirement, if it ever had been. Sebastian went along with the turn of events willingly.

This went on for some time—the fire was very warm, and they both found the other’s mouth very distracting—until at last they found themselves stretched along the couch, fingers in each other’s hair, and Ciel’s head resting on the fabric of Sebastian’s waistcoat.

“Dear me,” said Sebastian quietly, perhaps to no one in particular.

“ _What_ ,” demanded Ciel, mustering all the characteristic crossness he could manage.

“It’s just—” (Sebastian stroked Ciel’s hair in a way Ciel found particularly soothing, and took great pains to sound sincere), “—I had heard, my lord, about masters occasionally losing their tempers and attacking their demons, and I had simply no idea that it would feel like this at all. It is always described in such harrowing terms: guns and holy chrism and blood and—”

“Sebastian.” Ciel’s hand lazily found a small pillow on the floor, where it had been displaced, and smacked Sebastian in the side of the head with it. The demon was all but laughing at his own sense of humor, which would not do at all. “I have another order for you.”

“If it pleases you, my lord.” Sebastian attempted very studiously to compose himself.

“Kiss me,” Ciel ordered.

His butler complied at once.

 

It was no use, Mey-rin had found, to attempt to look in the keyhole to the study. Neither Finny nor Baldroy had any success with it; there was simply darkness on the other side of the lock, although the tiny crack of firelight along the bottom of the door suggested otherwise.

In fact, what they were staring at was the interior of the fluffy hat, quite intentionally placed not for show but for effect.

After all—Sebastian would tell Ciel smugly the next morning, when the earl noticed—if he couldn’t do a simple thing like guard his master’s propriety from the likes of the household staff, what kind of butler would he be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind (author headcanon!), these events take place on Ciel's eighteenth birthday. However, on Sebastian’s orders, no one in the household may mention the event unless Ciel brings it up first, and any gift-giving or celebration must be done under non-birthday pretenses.
> 
> Also: thank you for all the reads, kudos, and lovely comments! Your enthusiasm inspired a fluffy sequel called “Twelfth Day.”


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